


Darker Days (Are Drawing Near)

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Supernatural, War of the Worlds - Fandom
Genre: AU, Aliens, Crossover, Fusion, Gen, Horror, Sci-Fi, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Martian invasion of Earth, Dean, Sam and Castiel must trek across America to reach Bobby, who they believe may possibly be dead, lost in the first wave of Martian Fighting Machines. What will they find when they eventually reach Singer Salvage Yard?</p><p>written for the <a href="http://spn-cinema.livejournal.com">spn_cinema challenge, 2011</a>. My chosen film was <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0407304">War of the Worlds.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Darker Days (Are Drawing Near)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from lyrics included in the song, “Forever Autumn” as recorded by Justin Hayward on Jeff Wayne’s musical version of The War of the Worlds, first released in 1978. Also, the noise made by the Martians throughout my story has also been taken from Jeff Wayne’s musical version, as I much prefer their exultant and more ominous cries of “Ulla” (pronounced Oooh-laaaa) over the more staid “Aloo” of HG Wells’ novel. The snippet included at the beginning of the piece is taken from the novel, which again is used in the musical version, from the Journalist’s perspective as voiced by Richard Burton.

~~~

No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences that were greater than man’s own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.  
~The War of the Worlds; HG Wells

~~~

Dean was woken by Sam’s large and heavy hand splayed against his shoulder, fingers digging urgently into his flesh as the younger hunter shook Dean. Dean batted Sam away grumpily, before turning away to return to sleep and dreams of an angel cavorting naked against a fireman’s pole, wings displayed proudly from the being‘s back. His snores began to drift to the ceiling again when Sam’s hand returned, shaking him ever more urgently and the younger man’s voice yelling Dean’s name close to the elder hunter’s ear.

“Dean. Dean, God damn it! Wake up,” Sam tried again, when Dean still steadfastly refused to respond.

Dean mumbled something incoherent, which Sam assumed couldn’t have been anything less than something rude. He sighed and shook his brother again, wondering whether to just leave Dean to sleep while he watched the lightshow outside by himself. He hadn’t seen anything like this before in his life and didn’t know what it could mean. He sighed, finally letting his hand fall from Dean’s shoulder before he turned away, to head towards the window again alone.

As though the loss of the warmth of Sam’s hand against his chilly shoulder woke Dean, finally, the elder hunter stirred and stared at the empty space beside his bed, eyes blinking wearily into the darkened motel room. A yawn bisected his face as he hastily tried to stifle the noise behind a hastily raised hand. The noise attracted Sam who mock cheered from his position by the window.

“Finally. I’ve been trying to wake you for at least ten minutes there, Dean,” Sam said, when Dean finally sat up in bed.

“What is it?” Dean asked, grumpily, scrubbing one hand into one sleep crusted eye as he yawned again, before applying the same hand to the back of his neck.

“Take a look outside,” Sam urged, gesturing towards the window with one flailing hand.

He refused to say further, even to Dean’s repeated requests as to what was going on, too lazy to stand and to see for himself. Finally, Dean gave in, and swung his legs out from beneath the thrown back sheets, soles of his feet retracting slightly from the chilly carpet covering the floor. He padded across the room to join his brother at the window and both Winchesters stared out into the night darkened world.

At first, Dean couldn’t even see what Sam had been talking about nor what was so exciting, and he was ready to accuse Sam for dragging him unnecessarily from bed when he saw it. “It” was a bright green flare far off in the night sky, a pulse coming from thousands of miles away in space and coming closer. In the pulse’s wake appeared a green flare, as though from propulsion engines, a green fine mist that leeched all other colors from the night sky. The flare was joined by a second, and a third, all arcing across the sky and down to Earth.

“What the hell is it?” Dean asked, staring at the green flares, mouth wide open in surprise.

“Dunno. Comets?” Sam replied, with a shrug.

“I haven’t seen comets quite like this before,” Dean murmured back, voice pitched low and quiet as though fearful of being overheard.

The elder Winchester snorted and berated himself for being stupid. After all, there was no one else in the room other than himself and his brother. Not even Castiel was with them, having disappeared hours ago on celestial business up in Heaven. Dean briefly wondered whether Castiel was seeing any of this where he was, and decided to ask the angel next time he was given the chance.

“Neither have I,” Sam said quietly, to Dean’s earlier statement.

“Where do you think its coming from?” Dean asked next, after a moment’s pause.

“From the position of it, I’d say Mars,” Sam said immediately, without even having to think about it.

Dean snorted but otherwise remained silent.

“What?” Sam rejoined lightly, pushing against Dean’s shoulder playfully.

“Only a geek like you would know where Mars is at,” Dean said, as he shoved Sam back, harder than his brother’s initial push had been.

Sam made a wordless cry, before attempting to grab his brother in a headlock. Dean evaded him and grabbed Sam instead, arms locked tightly around Sam’s floppy-haired head, wrestling him mercilessly to the ground, and threatening to smother him with the weight of his own body. Sam finally gave in, submitted to Dean’s greater strength and dirtier fighting skills, before they lay upon the motel room floor, staring up at the ceiling, chests rising and falling with the force of previously expended exertions. They remained silent however, until Dean made the announcement that he was going back to bed.

Sam grunted but didn’t try to stop him, nor did he immediately move himself. He continued to lay upon the ground, staring up at the cracked plasterwork of the ceiling, green flares and suspected comets all but long forgotten now. Eventually, he stood, getting slowly to his feet and dusting himself off fastidiously. His limbs felt a little sore from his earlier tussle with Dean and he limped back to bed, glad that his brother was already asleep and not bearing witness to his pain.

He settled down in his own bed, before turning onto his side and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Neither woke again that night, and neither saw the almost continuous flash of green flares and equally green mist that trailed across the night sky outside, all but obliterating the stars in some places.

~~~

Dean was the first to wake the next morning, eyes squinting against the flare of light glimmering in eddying waves across the room, sparking off the dust motes hanging suspended in the air. He raised one arm over his eyes, squinting against the light and trying to cut out the worst of it as he turned to face the window. He saw that someone was there, peering out with the curtains partially drawn, admitting the streamers of light that bothered Dean. At first Dean thought it was Sam at the window, but the figure was too small, too slight to be the taller, more muscular Sam.

“Cas?” Dean asked, finally recognising the tan coated form at the window as belonging to the angel.

Dean coughed into his upraised fist weakly, throat sore and dry from too long spent without a drink. He decided to get himself some water from the bathroom as soon as he was up and mobile, awake enough to move without fear of tipping himself unsteadily to the floor.

“Hello, Dean. There’s a glass of water on the bedside cabinet, if you want it,” the angel said, deep voice sounding uncharacteristically distracted as he glanced briefly over one slight shoulder.

“Huh? Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, turning to face the mentioned glass of water, making the assumption that it was the angel who had placed it there for him.

“You’re welcome, Dean. I thought you’d be thirsty when you woke,” Castiel said, deep voice turning grim and sonorous even as he was turning away.

“Hey, don’t I get a drink of water?” Sam asked, sleepily, before a loud yawn from Sam’s mouth assaulted the air.

“There was only one glass, Sam. You’ll have to wait until Dean fills it again,” the angel replied, without hesitation.

Dean grinned smugly over the top of the glass, before he purposefully took a long draft of the clear, refreshing water inside. He found it to be cool, fresh, and slightly sweet, as though plucked straight from the source of the finest spring. His eyebrows shot up over his interested, pleased eyes, before he took another sip, and another. He continued drinking until the water had gone, despite the waving, desperate hand of Sam, begging for a sip of the water to ease his own dry throat.

Dean smiled smugly again at his brother, before getting to his feet now that he was sufficiently awake enough to keep his balance without toppling wearily to the floor. He padded through to the bathroom and filled the glass up again, blinking down at the slightly cloudy fluid that gushed from the tap. He sniffed it and inhaled the distinct sharp tang of fluoride and ammonia. He crinkled his nose and wondered to himself just where Castiel had gotten the water from. It certainly had not been straight from the tap, judging by the smell alone.

He shrugged to himself, deciding that it was Castiel’s preferential treatment at work again, and smiled affectionately over the fact that Castiel seemed to always be looking after him. Despite the fact that Dean himself rarely thanked the angel for his efforts, he knew that Castiel would never stop looking after him, even in the smallest of ways. Dean decided that he should work on thanking him at least once in the near future.

Sam yelled for his drink in the main room, prompting Dean to return, his face a blank and expressionless mask as he passed his brother the glass of cloudy water. Sam seemed not to notice at first and he took a draft, before he spat the offending mouthful out onto the floor. Dean didn’t take any notice, ducking out of the way of the hastily flung pillow straight from Sam’s hand, as though it was Dean himself that was at fault instead of the bathroom tap.

Dean joined Castiel at the window, curious as to what could have kept Castiel so pre-occupied and for so long. He took his place at Castiel’s side, eyes scanning the open expanse outside the motel room, gaze finally coming to rest upon a plume of dark smoke tinged vaguely green in the middle distance. He could see vague shapes heading towards it, a crowd of thronging people that seemed to be gathering to view something.

“What are they looking at?” Dean asked Castiel who didn’t immediately answer.

“What are who looking at?” Sam asked, coming up behind Dean and Castiel to stare out of the window from his greater vantage point and height.

“There’s a crowd of people walking into the desert. They seem to be going to look at something,” Dean said, as he half turned to look at his brother, one hand gesturing to the great expanse of sand outside.

Sam shrugged, as though the news was of little consequence to him, before he said - “Maybe a meteor came to ground last night. We did see those comets, didn’t we?”

Dean made a non-committal sound in reply, and even Sam had to admit that his brother didn’t sound convinced. Dean didn’t think that the explanation was the right one, although he had no basis on which to base his bad feelings upon. Years of hunting had honed his instincts to a fine edge, and now, his instincts were telling him that something was seriously wrong.

Apparently, Castiel agreed with him, for he made a mirroring noise of dissatisfaction, dark blue eyes turning darker still as he stared off into the desert outside. Dean turned away and scrubbed his fingers over his eyes, before he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He exhaled loudly, before his hand dropped, to find Castiel staring expectantly at him, as though waiting for further instruction.

It hurt Dean to see that look, made his heart clench a little for this powerful angel looking to him for instructions. It didn’t seem right to him, that an angel should look to him for orders. To Dean, Castiel was higher up the chain of command, yet Castiel didn’t seem to think so. It seemed as though he needed to take orders from someone despite being tantamount to the sheriff in Heaven, and in the absence of God, Dean seemed to fill the void of command-giver.

He offered the angel a smile, before he said - “Okay, everyone get ready and we’ll go take a look ourselves, shall we?”

“Do you think that’s so very wise, Dean?” Castiel asked, proving that he wasn’t quite ready to take Dean’s words at face value, despite looking to him for instructions.

“No, but we’ve got nothing to lose by looking,” Dean said, with a shrug.

Somehow, his words didn’t ring true, echoed hollowly deep inside his own consciousness, and he hoped against every hope that he had that he wasn’t leading his friend and his brother deep into the deepest trouble they could find. He only hoped that if that was the case, that they'd be able to dig their way out of it again, somehow.

An hour later and the trio were tramping through the desert sand, the early morning sun peeking through the clouds above to bake the particles below in a blistering, no nonsense way. Dean was already thirsty, sipping lustily from a bottle of water that Castiel had had hidden somewhere in his seemingly voluminous trench coat pocket. Dean had made a crack about Mary Poppins and her bottomless bag of never-ending tricks and solutions to all problems, to which Castiel had given him one of his patented, quizzical glares. The laughter had died on Dean’s lips and he’d busied himself taking yet another sip of his water to cover his embarrassment. No one could beat one of the angel’s best glares, especially when Castiel was confused about a popular culture reference.

He had to admit that he was glad that Sam at least had had a shot of having his own bottle of water, which thankfully tasted as fresh and as sweet as Dean’s earlier glass. The elder Winchester still felt a little guilty over the tap water debacle, despite the fact that it couldn’t have been helped. He made a mental note to ask Castiel where he’d gotten his water from, mentally adding to himself that he’d probably gotten it from the River Jordan in 32 BC or something, knowing the angel.

He snorted again in laughter, mirth soon dying on his lips as they came closer to the smudged shape that they’d seen in the middle distance. The motel they'd been staying at had been right on the edge of town, pavement soon giving out upon shifting sands and baking heat. They’d followed the few stragglers still heading out across the yellow landscape, going to garner a look at the smudge that they’d earlier assumed was a fallen meteorite. Dean hoped, as they grew closer, that it genuinely was the promised meteorite. Everything in his body screamed at him to get away, yet he didn’t; he kept walking.

Castiel seemed just as hesitant yet just as clueless as to what was ahead of them. His eyes looked strangely and vaguely apprehensive, hands fisted into loose balls at his side, long fingers hidden behind sweaty palms. His hair curled in damp twists against the back of his neck, proving that his vessel was feeling the heat, even if the angel inside was impervious to it.

Sam seemed to be the only one who was unaffected by the heat. He strode easily, tall body loose and ambling, the only concession to the heat was the fact that his hair stuck to his head in wet strands.

Finally, they arrived at what could only be described as a crash site. A long, cylindrical object had plowed into the sand, causing a long dune to bow out around the smooth metallic shape. A crowd had gathered around it, a few feet from its base, yet no one seemed brave enough to go near it. All seemed perfectly content to hang back at a distance, some taking pictures, while still others stared and pointed.

Dean exchanged a glance with both Castiel and Sam. Castiel looked confused, eyebrows pulled down low over his dark blue eyes, proving that this was a new thing to the angel too. It seemed as though being in existence for thousands of years didn’t mean that Castiel had seen everything, that things still could surprise him at times. Sam, at last, seemed perturbed, as though the situation was finally starting to get a little weird for him and Dean was secretly relieved. He was glad that at last the Winchester instinct seemed to be alive and strong inside the younger brother at last.

“What do you think it is?” Sam asked, finally.

“It ain’t no damn meteor, and that’s for sure,” Dean muttered as his eyes skimmed over the bright surface of the cylinder appraisingly.

He was beginning to get images of alien spacecraft skittering at the edges of his mind’s eye, of aliens bent on destruction and anarchy, yet Sam, ever the voice of reason, tried to apply reason once more.

“Perhaps it broke off a satellite,” he offered.

“I hope to God you’re right,” Dean muttered back, making Castiel stare at him.

“I don’t think God would approve of this,” Castiel said, his voice blank and as carefully guarded as his expression right then.

“I don’t think I approve of it, either. I’m with your Dad on that,” Dean threw back, eyes finally skittering back to the surface of the cylinder when an ominous sound was heard.

For a moment, a brief unscrewing sound broke through the air, stopping mere seconds after it had started, making more than one person in the impromptu audience scream in surprise and shock. The unscrewing sounded again, ominous, purposeful, and unrelenting. At the top of the cylinder, a small plate slowly revolved in time with the unscrewing sounds, revealing threads of a screw glinting eerily in the sunlight as it was slowly revealed.

Dean watched in horror, flanked by his brother and an angel on either side of him, all standing stock still in mute, horrified silence as the top of the cylinder finally plopped into the sand. A brief pause came, leaving everyone in bated silence filled breathlessness, before a singular tentacle emerged from the top of the cylinder.

The small frond moved as though tasting the air, whipping back and forth before more of the creature inside was revealed. It was larger than a bear, with little to no body mass, seemingly all head with masses of tentacles and large disc like eyes. It peered from the top of the cylinder down at the crowd staring back at it, wide eyes taking in its captive audience dispassionately.

Dean didn’t remember just who started running first; all he could remember was the first body slamming into him as someone stumbled and fell headlong against his unprotected abdomen. Screams and yells surrounded him and assaulted his ears as the crowd dispersed, attempting to get away from the thing that lived in the cylinder.

People ran so fast away from the thing that some appeared to fly, yet still Dean stood, transfixed by the scene, mesmerised by the thing that plainly was not from the Earth glaring malevolently down upon them all. He shuddered, and could almost feel the slimy tentacles crawling over his skin. He could feel the definite weight of its gaze as it regarded him for the briefest of moments, before the being’s vast intelligence moved away as though Dean was of little consequence to it, no more important to it than an ant was to Dean.

Dean felt the familiar weight of Castiel’s hand upon his forearm, long fingers digging into the flesh of his exposed skin as the angel attempted to steer him away. Dean followed reluctantly, still feeling trapped by the being’s impenetrable gaze, intelligence so immeasurably vast it made even Castiel seem small and all too human.

“Dean, please, let’s leave,” Castiel commanded, sounding gruff yet there was a distinct plea beneath the angel’s harsh tones, as though even Castiel was nervous to be near the thing, undoubtedly a Martian behind him.

Dean relaxed slightly, finally able to put a name to the thing behind him, a name that he’d previously almost been too scared to even filter into his consciousness. Sam’s words from the night before came back to Dean and the way that his brother had said the green flares that streaked across the sky had seemed to come from Mars. Dean remembered scoffing at the time, poking fun at his geek of a brother, but now in the plain light of day and the thing that glared from the top of an alienesque canister, his geek of a brother didn’t seem so much like a geek at all.

A brief flare of hot light fizzled past Dean’s head, forcing him to duck away with a hoarse cry of alarm and Castiel wrapped his arms about the hunter’s body to protect him. Dean heard the distinct heavy sounds of the angel’s wings beating against the air and his ears and suddenly Dean was standing outside their motel room door, safe and temporarily out of range of whatever had been shooting at them.

“Thanks, dude,” Dean said, gratefully. “Where’s Sam?”

“Here,” Sam said, already having been transported there by Castiel.

“Thank God, I thought you’d been hit,” Dean said, as he pulled Sam into a hard, yet all too brief hug.

Dean turned the same hug onto Castiel, who surprisingly accepted the hug, long fingers resting upon the hunter’s back in a brief touch. The elder Winchester was glad that the angel had had the foresight to get them all out of range, and still, he turned his gaze upon the horizon where he knew the Martian still was. Sam and Castiel stood either side of him, watching the show and play of light as streaks of heat flared across the sand, vaporising humans left and center.

“What d’you think it is? That light, I mean,” Dean asked, voice hushed to the point of near reverence.

“Dunno. Some kind of heat ray,” Sam replied, with the tiniest shrug Dean had ever seen his brother give.

“We should go help,” Dean muttered, turning to peer into the still open motel room door, thinking about his gun.

“You cannot help, Dean,” Castiel said beside him. “Bullets will be ineffectual against a heat ray.”

Dean grunted, but still strode into the motel room anyway, retrieving his gun and re-taking his place between Sam and Castiel. Despite Castiel’s words to the effect that a gun would be useless, Dean felt safer with a weapon in his hand. At least he had a chance to defend himself, his brother and the angel should the Martian come any closer than it already was. He clicked off the safety catch, the noise loud in the silence that hung thick between them, his weapon loaded fist held ready to fire.

Castiel stood a little closer, ranged slightly in front of Dean in a clear indication of shielding Dean’s body, position tense and ready. Sam didn’t appear to take any notice, but Dean did and left the gesture unremarked upon. He felt touched that Castiel wanted to protect him, making a show of it perhaps for his own benefit rather than Dean’s. They continued watching flare after flare of hot white light, wincing at the screams of vaporising humans dying before finally, all went quiet.

“You think they’re all dead?” Dean asked, directing the question to both Sam and Castiel and yet to neither of them.

Sam didn’t reply; instead he looked to Castiel, as though he expected the angel to provide answers.

“Not all of them have passed,” Castiel said, grimly. “Some of them were lucky enough to escape. But for how long?”

“Thank you, Mr Hopeful,” Dean said, with a snort, before he sighed.

His sarcasm was a mask for his fear, and he clapped Castiel on the shoulder to show his apology. Castiel nodded, seemingly accepting the unspoken apology, before they turned away, to enter their motel room.

They sat in silence, Sam staring at the floor, Dean and Castiel staring at one another, seeming to commune without words. Finally, Dean nodded, as though a pact had been formed, before he looked away.

“What the hell do you think that thing was?” Sam asked, voice dead and expressionless.

“Whatever that was, my Father didn’t make it,” Castiel replied, softly. “It wasn’t from Earth, either.”

“Those flares we saw last night were coming from Mars,” Dean supplied. “You said it yourself, Sam. It must have been their space-ships or whatever they came down in. Canisters.”

Sam grunted, and fell silent. He continued staring at the floor, large hands clasped about his knees and then he spoke.

“What do you think they want?” he asked, finally.

“They? Who said anything about they? There was only one out there,” Castiel said.

“We saw more than one flare last night, Cas. If there was one in the desert, no doubt more than that landed,” Dean said, without rancor. “There’s probably loads scattered all over the globe.”

“Maybe we should call Bobby, make sure he’s alright. He might even have some answers,” Sam said, finally looking up with the birth of new hope in his eyes.

Dean watched him, wondering if it was such a good idea before he finally nodded. After all, they had nothing to lose by doing as Sam had suggested, and he was worried about the elder hunter himself. If they could somehow contact him and ensure his safety, then Dean’s peace of mind would be a little restored in the face of things. He wondered briefly just how things would pan out. At the moment he didn’t think things looked good for them. The thing outside obviously was of a greater intelligence, a far more advanced society than humans could ever begin to imagine, proven by their firepower alone.

He shuddered, remembering the far off screams and the whoosh of the heat rays searing the land behind him, the stench of burning bodies and the silence that stretched inexorably on now. He stared off into space, mind wandering over dozens, hundreds, thousands of Martians taking over the planet, subjugating humans, keeping them as slaves or perhaps merely just killing them all off, erasing them until there was no trace of humankind left. He closed his eyes momentarily, wondering what was going to happen to him, to Sam, to Castiel and to Bobby.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, deep voice oddly calming against the storm inside Dean’s head.

“No, I'm not freaking alright, Cas. There’s a slimy wet Martian outside looking to cook a few humans. What do you think?” Dean asked, as he turned upon the angel.

“Dean,” Sam said, sharply. “It’s not Cas’ fault. He helped us.”

Castiel looked on, expression as peaceful and calm as ever and Dean felt immediately guilty. Sam was right. Castiel had stayed, and he had saved them.

“I’m sorry Cas. You did save our lives,” Dean said and Castiel nodded, graciously.

“You will get through this,” Castiel predicted. “You survived the Apocalypse.”

“Dude, I don’t mean to be a complete Doubting Debbie right now, but the Apocalypse had nothing on this,” Dean said. “All Lucifer did was jump in a hole with Michael. He didn’t roast the planet like we feared he would.”

Sam kept quiet, remembering all too clearly what it had been like for him in Hell, trapped in the Pit with two battling archangels and his subsequent soulless return. He knew it hadn’t been as easy as Dean had implied, yet he remained silent on the matter. Dean refused to look at his brother after his statement, and continued staring at Castiel instead.

Castiel sighed and sat back in his seat, mouth pressed into a tight line of dissatisfaction. At first Dean thought that Castiel was about to rip him a new one, but instead the angel merely nodded, despite the fact that he remained otherwise silent. Both Sam and Dean could see that the angel was clearly out of his depth, uncertain as to what to do against an unknown and unknowable assailant that up until that point, all were ignorant about its very existence.

“Are you going to call Bobby?” Castiel finally said, breaking the weighted silence that hung between them.

“I will,” Sam said, reaching for Dean’s phone automatically.

Dean opened his mouth as though to protest, but a hammering sound from outside briefly diverted his attention away from his brother for the moment. He stood, crossed the room and stared out of the motel room window, eyes fixed immediately upon the location of the metal canister.

“What do you think it’s doing?” Castiel asked, coming to stand beside the elder hunter and following his line of sight.

He had his head cocked to the side, visibly listening and taking in every last sound, analysing them in the hopes of answers. Dean shrugged and didn’t immediately say anything. Behind them, Sam’s voice began to talk to Bobby on the phone, relief evident in the younger Winchester’s tone of voice after hearing Bobby answering.

“It sounds like it’s building something,” Castiel finally said, answering his own earlier question.

“Could be,” Dean replied, before falling silent again.

“What do you think it could be building?” Castiel asked, as though Dean really did have all of the answers.

Dean bit back against the obvious, knee jerk response of a sarcastic reply and instead shook his head silently. Then he said - “I don’t know, but have a bad feeling we’ll find out before long.”

Castiel grunted and fell silent himself. They turned back at the worry suddenly evident in Sam’s voice, and the words that mirrored their own experiences. His hazel eyes found Dean’s, then Castiel’s, words falling rapid fire from his mouth as he relayed Bobby’s account of canisters falling from the sky, of green flares and strange noises, of hearing second hand from a passing trader that there was a monster on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. At first, according to Sam’s brief responses, it seemed as though Bobby hadn’t believed the trader and had gone to see for himself, meeting the same sight that the Winchesters and Castiel had witnessed.

“And you can hear hammering noises?” Sam asked, gaze finding Dean’s in sudden horror. “Is someone at the door?”

Dean couldn’t hear Bobby’s response, but by the change in Sam’s expression it seemed as though Bobby were calling the younger Winchester every last name under the sun, all variations of idjit.

“So it sounds like it’s building something?” Sam finally said, before his face changed, skin leaching of all color and turning milky white. “Bobby? You still there?”

“Sam?” Dean asked, striding across the room and ripping the phone free from his brother’s hand. “Bobby? You still there?”

There was no answer on the other end, merely the ominous sound of a cut line hissing against the shell of his ear. He disconnected, before setting his phone carefully upon the table top, reverently as though he feared it would explode. He looked to Castiel for help and received only polite interest and a vast curiosity instead.

“Bobby’s not there. His phone’s been cut off,” Dean said, by way of explanation.

“Ah. Not good,” Castiel said, visibly uncertain as to what to say.

“Dean,“ Sam warned, laying one hand upon Dean’s sweat-dampened forearm to forestall further argument.

He could read Dean better than anybody, except for Castiel himself of course, and he knew that his brother was likely to explode with anger at any time. He didn’t want it to be at Castiel, who hadn’t done anything wrong except to not know what to say. Dean waved his hand at Castiel, to which the angel inclined his head graciously, accepting the unspoken apology.

He watched Dean as the elder hunter paced the room, hands pawing at his mousy brown hair as he thought. The angel’s eyes were intent upon Dean, tracking his every movement as though waiting for Dean to start giving orders. When none were immediately forthcoming, Sam prompted him in lieu of Castiel even saying anything.

“So what do we do now? We have to know what’s happened to Bobby,” he said, voice pitched to a quiet level, as though in reverence for someone already passed.

“He’s not dead, Sammy. Don’t talk like he’s already dead,” Dean said, whirling upon his brother, desperation in his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam said, face squinched down into a narrow line of frustration.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it,” Dean said.

Sam’s silence spoke volumes and Castiel shifted slightly, attracting the attention of both Sam and Dean upon his tan coated form.

“Perhaps we should travel to Sioux Falls, see if he’s alright,” Castiel suggested when no other solution presented itself from either Sam or Dean’s mouths.

Dean glanced out of the window, eyes flickering over the horizon to check for marauding aliens outside. His forthright gaze was met by flickers of a heat ray decimating more hapless onlookers getting too close. Dean could just imagine the petrified remains of innocent bystanders and genuine tourists wanting to gain a look, laying in amongst shards of heated glassy clumps of fused sand. He sighed, before he turned back to the room behind him, Sam and Castiel were both looking at him as though waiting upon his judgment.

“We go, but we travel at night. I don’t want to attract attention by those things during the daytime,” he said, as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the Martians.

“I can transport you there in the blink of an eye. We can go now,” Castiel said, head titled to the side in confusion as though he didn’t quite understand Dean’s decision.

“Dude. Seriously. Do you really think I’m leaving my car in full view of those sons of bitches out there? They’ll melt her down for scrap. That’s if looters don’t get to her first,” Dean said, with a theatrical shudder. “We’re driving and we’re taking my car with us.”

His tone was flat, brooking no arguments and even though Castiel looked as though he didn’t agree with the decision, he also didn’t argue against it either. He kept silent and Dean nodded in satisfaction at him, pleased that the angel didn’t try to dissuade him from his plan. Surprisingly, Sam kept his silence as well, knowing better than to argue with Dean under any circumstance. The elder Winchester always stuck to his guns where his car was concerned and never backed down from leaving her anywhere he didn’t want to. Sam sighed and turned away slightly, staring at one of the beds pointedly.

“Okay, so if we’re really going to be travelling at night, then I suggest we try and get some sleep in the meantime. We’ll need the rest,” he said, already laying himself down upon his bed.

Dean grunted but didn’t offer up any other response than that, and within seconds, Sam was already asleep. Dean looked to Castiel, who stared expressionlessly back at him, until Dean shrugged.

“I guess I’ve got no choice but to sleep, huh?” he asked, although he was already laying down upon his own bed.

“Not really,” Castiel replied anyway.

“You’re still gonna be here, right?” Dean asked, stopping before he laid upon his bed to stare over his shoulder at the angel.

Despite not saying outright, Castiel knew that Dean was asking him to stay, that the hunter would feel safer with the angel standing watch over them. He sighed, knowing that it was a promise he was bound to break because of the ongoing war in Heaven and he watched as the hope died in Dean’s eyes. That death of hope lodged in Castiel’s vast mind, to canker and to hamper at him, something that he did not like at all.

“I can’t, Dean,” he said, finally when the silence stretched out too long. “You know why. If I had it any other way, I would stay, you know that. You will be fine, until I get back.”

“Is that a prediction or a promise?” Dean asked, trying to hide his disappointment behind a snarky comment and a cheeky grin.

“Both,” Castiel said, without hesitation. “I will be back before you wake. You’ll be fine, Dean. Both of you will be fine.”

Dean nodded, deciding that that answer would have to be good enough, before he finally stretched out upon his bed and settled himself down. He remained fully clothed, Castiel noticed, boots scattering sand over the otherwise clean sheets and blankets. The angel waited until Dean had slowly drifted off into sleep, breathing slowed until he was fully deep into sleep. Castiel flew away, deciding that leaving the Winchesters in such dire straits then was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He only hoped that the promise and the prediction he’d felt compelled to deliver to Dean would hold out until he could return.

As a precaution, he hovered over the crash site of the cylindrical ship, observing with a cold angelic eye everything that was happening below. He could see swarms of people still lingering, more coming out from the town he’d just left to observe what was going on. He saw a platoon of soldiers standing by a cannon and weapons ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. Castiel wondered why they weren’t firing already.

He listened to the hammering noises coming from inside the ship and the odd, strange shape tossed out in fragments upon the sand behind the cylinder. He could make no sense of these fragments, as alien to him as the inhabitant inside the ship itself. He watched for a while longer but saw no other movement than the fragments appearing in methodical piles on the leeward side of the ship. The hammering, scraping noises continued, and he left, knowing that his duties were still ongoing despite all that was happening on Earth.

~~~

True to his word, Castiel returned before either Sam or Dean awoke in the evening. He’d handed most of his duties over to trusted angels in his garrison, freeing up a lot more time to be with the Winchesters, to be able to watch over them more freely without the need to leave on a moment's notice. Castiel felt safer if he could oversee the Winchester’s safety personally.

Dean grinned when he saw the familiar tan coated form sitting beside him quietly upon his bed, hands clasped gently around his knees while the angel waited patiently. Castiel was barely moving, body as still as the marble statue that an angel was often likened to, yet still, he was beautiful, calming somehow, as though he radiated peace despite being a warrior of God in troubled times.

“Any breakthroughs?” Dean asked, attracting Castiel’s considerable attention upon his prostate form.

“Outside or in Heaven?” the angel asked, to clarify.

“Either. Both,” Dean asked, easily, voice slightly strained as he swung his legs awkwardly, stiffly to sit beside Castiel.

He groaned, popped the muscles in his joints to loosen them after too long laying in one position, before he waited for Castiel’s measured response.

“Heaven is to be expected. It is a mess, as per usual. I have left it in the hands of some trusted angels. I hope they can cope. Outside there is little change. People are still being fried by that heat ray, and there seems to be some headway to making some kind of mechanical object,” he said. “I have never seen anything work so fast in all of my long existence.”

“Mechanical object? What kind of mechanical object?” Sam asked from behind Castiel.

The angel turned at the sound of the younger hunter’s voice, coupled with the bedsprings shifting beneath the tall man’s weight transferring into a sitting position.

“I don’t know. Some kind of tripod device,” the angel said. “I’ve never seen the like before.”

“I doubt we have either,” Dean said, morosely before Sam could speak further. “Come on, let’s hit the road. We can’t stay here at any rate.”

Castiel nodded and got to his feet, watching as Dean began to hastily pack clothes, personal items and his weapons into a nearby bag. Sam mumbled something incoherent, yet still he stood and joined Dean in hastily stuffing items into their bags. Castiel waited, eyes tracking every single last movement, until their possessions were safely stored in bags and piled near the doorway. He stood then, and joined Dean in waiting while Sam used the bathroom one last time.

Silently, they left, piling their bags into the trunk of the Impala and even Castiel lent a hand. Dean thanked him with a silent nod, not wanting to make unnecessary noise for fear of listening Martians. He threw cursory glances towards the horizon every now and again to make sure they weren’t spotted but nothing moved.

He slid behind the wheel eventually and waited until Sam eased in beside him and Castiel blinked into the back seat. He started the car, wincing at the loud rumble that coughed into the otherwise silent desert air, before he eased the car way from the motel parking lot.

The trio remained tense until they were safe away from the motel, the town disappearing into the distance as they headed slowly North. They knew that they had miles of Arizona desert to cross, before they even had a chance at drawing near to South Dakota. Dean gripped the steering wheel harder, determined that they would make it to Bobby’s in one piece and hope that they would find Bobby in one piece too.

~~~

They were still driving at midnight. The sky was covered in an extra thick layer of cloud cover, lending the night a darker quality than usual. Dean was driving, while Sam was dozing fitfully in the passenger seat. Castiel was sitting quietly in the back, watching the world go past his window, a world he believed to have changed drastically in just two short days.

On the horizon, he caught the first glimmer of firelight, backlighting a shape he didn’t immediately recognize. He stared, thinking it at first to be a wind turbine, quickly determining that the structure he’d seen had too many legs and no blades to catch the wind.

He stared and saw the by now familiar heat ray sizzling down to flicker and dance against the ground, causing more flames to rise against the sky. He blinked slowly, as the realization filtered into his celestial being that he at last had an answer for the banging and hammerings coming from the Martian cylinder all day. They were building some kind of tall legged fighting machine with a sleek body balanced on three legs forming a tripod.

He leant forward, still staring at the dark shape stationed upon the horizon, before he touched Dean’s shoulder and pointed in the thing’s direction. Dean slammed on the brakes, jerking Sam forward so hard, the younger hunter almost slammed his head against the dashboard in front of him.

“Dean,” Sam complained loudly into the otherwise silent car, turning away from the windshield to stare pointedly at his brother.

Because of the angle of his head, he did not see the mechanical monster outside, standing on the horizon like the most ominous and alien of sentinels. Dean barely looked at his brother, too transfixed by the metallic, three legged machine outside. He slowly killed the engine, letting the hot metal tick and cool beside the side of the road. He pointed to the thing outside when Sam started to form a question regarding what he was doing, and Sam finally turned his head to see what Dean was pointing at.

“Jesus,” Sam said, as he leant forward again of his own volition this time, instead of being flung there. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Looks like some kind of fighting machine,” Castiel murmured, behind the brothers, never taking his eyes from the stationary being on the horizon.

They could all see the flickering flames behind the machine, hellish and red reflecting back over myriad molten surfaces. They could see in variegated patterns of reflected firelight that there were dome like protrusions on the front, reminiscent of eyes staring malevolently down upon the ground, as if judging everything it saw and finding it wanting. A long protrusion from the front hung ominously down and it was then that another one of the ominous heat rays blazed out, igniting another section of field across the way.

Explosions ensued, flickering flames drowning the pitiful screams that blared and fell silent. They saw the thing slowly stir into life, striding across the land with huge steps taking in meters of ground in one step. Dean had to admit that he found the sight impressive and singularly frightening all at the same time. The machine strode away from them, distracted by causing annihilation upon some poor town’s inhabitants. and taking its metallic frame further away from the Impala and its frightened, awed inhabitants.

Across the land came an exultant cry as another beam of its heat ray scorched the land, a long ululating - “Ulla!” - that razed the land and raised the hackles on Dean’s neck. Beside him, Sam shivered and Castiel cursed in Enochian, gruff voice harsh and a welcome relief from the second wailing - “Ulla” - from the Martian tripod. Dean knew that at least Castiel’s native tongue was beautiful, more homely than any Martian cry and it almost gave him comfort.

“Dean,” Sam said, quietly.

“Hmm,” Dean grunted without ever taking his eyes from the machine outside.

“Whatever the hell that thing is, don't you think it wise to move away as fast as humanly possible?” he asked.

“Hmmm,” Dean mumbled again, before reaching for the keys again.

He timed the explosion of the rumbling engine with the explosion from the whooshing heat rays upon the horizon, before he angled the car away from the side of the road, and sending it idling slowly away. He kept the pace slow and careful, keeping grumbling engine noises to a bare minimum so as not to attract too much unwanted attention from alien invaders. They remained quiet, tense, all three pairs of eyes staring straight ahead out of the windshield as they drove slowly away.

They relaxed only slightly when they were far enough away to be safely out of range of the all seeking heat ray. Dean stopped by the side of the road, needing to relieve his screaming bladder by the side of the road, before climbing back behind the wheel. He waited for Sam to make the same ablutions, but didn’t bother asking Castiel if he needed a leak. The angel never passed water and Dean envied him that.

He drove quietly again, and neither Sam nor Castiel spoke, remaining silent and staring out of the windshield as though mesmerised by the untouched landscape. Dean wondered how much longer the landscape would remain recognisable and human, before his mind made the obvious leap to how long it would take the Martians to transform into something alien, and bleak. He shuddered and tried not to think about it, aiming to put disturbing thoughts as far from his mind as humanly possible, until the time when he was forced to deal with them. Most of the time, he found that such diversionary tactics worked for him, and he knew it certainly was true in this case.

He knew though that if not for Castiel, he would have gone completely mad at first sight of the creature’s disc like eyes. At least with an Angel of the Lord on their side, they stood a fighting chance. He had to be almost as strong as one of the alien beings, or so Dean hoped. It seemed to him that it was the only tenuous hope they had left any more.

~~~

They didn’t speak until they were clear of the tripod behind them, and the world seemed human again, It seemed as though the tripod was a solitary one for the time being, trolling the land and scouring it free from humanity. Dean stopped the car by a lonely outpost, a church that seemed in solitary contrast to the thing they’d witnessed behind them.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, turning haunted, almost accusatory eyes onto Dean, as though he thought that Dean shouldn't be stopping at all.

“We have to stop, Sammy. We can’t drive forever. I need a rest,” Dean said, bleakly. “Besides, it doesn’t look as though it makes a difference between driving at night or during the day. Either way the Martian Fighting Machines or whatever you want to call them will be about.”

Sam stared at him and looked as though he was about to argue, but Castiel’s gruff voice stopped him from forming any words at all.

“He’s right, Sam,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t seem as though they need rest like you do. If there’s one abroad, who knows how many else there are? There can’t be just one out there.”

“Thanks for the comforting thought, Cas,” Dean said, without any real rancor. “But I know what you mean. I say we sleep while we have the chance now and carry on in the morning. If we have to die at all, I’d rather die with the sun on my face.”

“Cheerful thought there, Dean,” Sam said, sadly, although both Dean and Castiel noted that he didn’t argue against his brother’s logic.

“You’re gonna stay, right, Cas?” Dean asked, hopefully, twisting in his seat to stare at the angel sitting behind him.

Castiel remained quiet for so long Dean wondered if he was ever going to answer at all.

“Yes,” he said, eventually. “I don’t think my presence is required in Heaven right now. I have more pressing matters here.”

Dean nodded, but remained silent. Sam pointedly stared out of the window beside him, clearing his throat as he thought that it was for Dean that Castiel was staying and not for him. Castiel had made it plainly clear in the past that he came for Dean, came whenever the elder hunter called and very rarely for Sam. The younger Winchester supposed that it was inevitable that there should be a close bond between his brother and the angel, because Castiel did drag Dean from Hell and essentially rebuilt him again. Things like that left their mark, Sam supposed. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a small frisson of jealousy worming its way deep inside his consciousness, that his brother was so favored by a member of the Heavenly Host. To be smiled upon by an angel was tantamount to God’s blessing, Sam thought privately.

He jumped when Dean’s fist pounded on the glass right before his nose and he jerked back, unaware until then that Dean and Castiel had even gotten out of the car. Sam had been so deep in thought, he’d missed them leaving. Dean’s face cleaved into view, a grin splitting his too solemn face before he pounded on the window again.

“You coming, Sammy?” he asked, with another grin.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Sam barked back. “Just having a heart attack here.”

Dean grunted but straightened,. body angling towards the horizon to search for Martian Fighting Machines coming closer. Sam couldn’t hear anything and neither could he see anything when he joined Dean and Castiel outside. All was quiet and deceptively peaceful.

“I wonder how many days we’re going to get like this?“ Dean asked, morosely.

“You can’t think like that, Dean,” Castiel said, with a harsh tone to his voice that was new.

It almost sounded as though he was berating Dean for being too fatalistic and Sam expected his brother to tell the angel to butt out. Instead, Dean gave Castiel a half shrug, one shoulder lazily lifting as though in acquiescence to Castiel’s words. The angel nodded, but still he said - “I know darker days are drawing near, for us all, but it will get better. You’ll see.”

“You’ll help us,” Dean stated rather than asked.

“When I can,” Castiel replied, studiously not saying - “if.”

Dean nodded at the obvious substitution before he turned away to stare at the church behind them.

“You think Bobby’s alright?” Sam asked, bringing his brother’s pace to a halt.

“I hope to God, he is,” Dean said, over his shoulder. “We won’t know until we reach Sioux Falls.”

Castiel remained silent, watching the exchange with hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tan coat. He looked fragile then, deceptively small and almost childlike in the gloom. There was nothing remarkable about him then to mark him out as different from Dean and Sam themselves. It was then that Dean knew that Castiel wasn’t in a better position than they were right then. He was just as lost and felt just as powerless as they did.

“You’ve never seen this before have you?” Dean asked him.

“The Martians?” Castiel questioned.

Dean nodded and Sam watched the exchange curiously.

“Never. All my dealings have been purely celestial or Earthly,” Castiel replied. “I’ve never seen anything of this magnitude before.”

“We’ll get through it,” Dean said, taking his turn to reassure the angel instead of the other way around.

Castiel nodded and shot a glance at Sam, who remained stoically silent, knowing that it was a moment between Dean and his angel, and that he had no part to play in it.

“Go to sleep,” Castiel said, suddenly. “I shall be here in the morning.”

Sam nodded and was surprised to find that he found it a comforting thought. He was starting to get why Dean thought a lot of Castiel then, despite his brother’s bluster otherwise. Dean liked to make everyone think that he didn’t have emotions that ran as deep as affection for anyone other than Sam himself, yet the younger Winchester knew that was a lie. Castiel was very close to Dean’s heart, he knew and he found it helped him too. He thought that if there was anything worth fighting for then, then Castiel was the very embodiment of it. To think that an angel would choose to stay with them despite his own troubles in Heaven spoke volumes of how much Castiel thought of them and he clapped Castiel on the shoulder as he passed him.

Castiel watched him, with wide eyes, deceptively innocent and mirror-like that hid emotions as alien as the invading Martians, although infinitely more friendly in intent.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, quietly. “For everything.”

Castiel nodded but remained otherwise silent.

~~~

The angel was still outside when Dean and Sam emerged from the depths of the church the following morning and it looked as though nothing amiss had happened in the interim. There were no ominous alien shapes looming on the horizon and no unearthly calls as yet echoing across the land to mock them. They continued on their way, trying to mask the sounds of their car as well as they could.

They made many miles that day, and as they neared more densely packed civilization, they saw more evidence of the Martians inhabitance of Earth. More tripods stalked the land and it was all that Dean could do to try and remain hidden, to keep the loud throb of the Impala’s engine as purringly quiet as possible.

They remained undetected mercifully and they stopped in the middle of a bombed out town to restock. Buildings were crumbled and tumbled all around them, littering bricks and rubble in great swathes across the street. Everywhere was deserted and devoid of life, without a soul moving anywhere. Sam tried to call Bobby again, while they were there, but still received no response from the elder hunter. He snapped his cellphone closed and shook his head despondently at Dean when his brother shot a silent question at him.

Dean couldn’t help but suppress a shiver as he pumped gas into the Impala, glad for the small mercy that the pumps were still working and had escaped being blown up by the Martian’s heat rays. He filled the tank up as much as he could and emptied more of the gas into as many cans as he felt he could carry safely in the trunk. Wordlessly, he waved Sam and Castiel across the street towards the looted out grocery store, its front plate glass windows long since smashed and melted by onerous heat rays. They picked their way into the silent devastation found within, before they started to fill their arms with as many dry goods as they could carry between them. The fruit they left, already starting to spoil, as was the meat. The instant noodles, the canned soup and the canned vegetables were taken, along with a few well preserved pies for Dean.

They piled the supplies into the trunk, along with bottled soda, water and beer. Dean had even thought to grab a portable stove with small gas canisters so that they could at least heat their vegetables if they wanted. Castiel disappeared for a time and returned with more bottles of the sweet water that Dean remembered from the motel room a few days ago, before the invasion had started. He stared at the water with some sweet sadness before closing the trunk with a definite thump.

Soon they were on their way, silent when they saw another tripod striding across the land, swiftly followed by another and another, all three tolling forth their exultant unearthly cries. Dean knew that he would hear that cry in his sleep, forever haunting his dreams with its unending bell-toll of doom - Ulla, ulla, ulla. He shuddered and tried to shut the sounds out as best he could, humming Metallica quietly under his breath. Sam shot him a look, but didn't remark upon it. The sounds bothered him as much as they did Dean, and the lightly off key hum helped to distract him too.

~~~

Several miles and several deserted, Martian burned towns later, they were caught in a traffic jam. Dean tapped irritably with both hands upon the steering wheel, grumbling under his breath over being kept in one place for too long. He was ever mindful of aliens striding past, of decimating them all while they could do little more than watch everyone burn around them.

The tension was palpable in the car, hanging thick and heavy between them and not even Castiel remained unaffected by the high emotions running through the Winchesters. He was uncharacteristically fidgety, fingers plucking mindlessly at the hem of his tan coat, long fingers fiddling with his buttons that ran double breasted down the length of it.

Neither Sam nor Dean seemed to notice his fidgety nervousness, too caught up in wondering what the hold-up was to stop the angel. Finally, a policeman strolled past, as calmly as though the day was just like any other.

Dean rolled down his window before he shouted - “Hey! You! Yo, sir! What’s happening?”

The police officer came closer and leant down to peer in at the inhabitants of the Impala, before he replied.

“There’s a ferry up ahead, going to take you to the other side of the bay,” he said, in the tone of voice that suggested that they should have already known this for themselves.

“We’re visitors here. Is there not a bridge we could cross?” Dean asked, indicating further down the river with hope glimmering low in his eyes.

“There is, but good luck getting to it,” the officer replied. “The roads are out for as far as you can see. Damn Martians shot the roads up.”

The way that the officer mentioned the Martians so flippantly as though he was talking of nothing more than an invading (human) army made Dean angry. He was about to open his mouth and shout at the police officer, but the uniformed man had already moved on, called away by another trapped person in a car, calling for help and more information. Dean sighed and slumped back against his seat, exhaling loudly and at great length in frustration.

Sam continued staring out of the window, watching the water nearby and remaining silent. Castiel was watching Dean closely and the hunter offered the angel a half smile in the rear view mirror but remained silent. A half hour later and they still were sitting there, mostly silent and having moved the length of about a half dozen cars.

The ferry was only just leaving the dock for the second time, heading for the far shore and the Impala’s inhabitants had a clear view of the departing ferry from their vantage point near the head of the waiting line of cars. Dean watched closely, having nothing better to do than to watch it leave, needing the distraction from his own boredom and ceaselessly drumming fingers.

“Oh Jesus,” Sam muttered, voice tight with sudden horror as he stared out of the windshield at a far off point in the opposite direction to where Dean was looking.

Castiel leant in and tapped Dean upon the shoulder, before pointing forward with one slender hand to where Sam was staring, mouth agape in a soundless shout of warning horror. A Martian Fighting Machine was on the horizon staring down at the ferry, tracking its slow progress with an unreadable and terrible attention. Another tripod joined its twin and also stared malevolently at the sailing ferry. They stepped into the water, mechanics hissing and setting off steam from heated surfaces, fogging up the bay slightly with their greater temperatures.

“Oh jeez, get them the hell out of there; they’re gonna get killed,” Dean yelled, ripping open his door and joining the thronging masses overlooking the bay.

He screamed at the people in the ferry, screamed at them to jump and swim for shore, to save themselves from the Martians even now looming inexorably over the ferry. He noticed that a few people were jumping into the steaming waters, bodies joining them and falling when the Martians stopped to look down at the ferry between their tripod legs.

A Marine boat came sailing along too late, as the ferry was decimated in seconds by the first Martian Fighting Machine’s heat ray, boiling the water and the people attempting to swim for shore in the process. The second fighting machine turned its attention upon the Marines, shooting at it with its own heat ray until it too was a smoking ruin in the waters.

Panic ensued upon the shore, people dashing for their cars, where they were no safer than they were exposed to the light and the air. Cars scrambled to get away, resulting in head on crashes and pile ups in several places. Dean ran back, Sam in his wake and they manoeuvred the Impala through the wreckage of several cars in order to attempt to escape. Castiel remained sitting in the back, hand outstretched and flipping blockages from their path and preventing anyone from colliding with them, with his angelic powers strained to the maximum.

The Impala broke free of the milling throng of screeching metal, her paintwork intact and they screamed away, other cars following her lead and in her wake. Dean pushed the heavy car as fast as she would go, racing the stragglers behind and wincing when they heard the Martians bellows of “Ulla” and the whoosh of a heat ray decimating cars following them.

Dean didn’t know how they escaped the attention of the Martian heat rays; all he knew was that they did, along with a few other lucky cars following them. The other cars soon dispersed travelling off in different directions and Dean doubted they’d ever see them again. They all were silent in the Impala, breath rapid and heavy as they regained breath, trying to calm the adrenaline of a near-miss escape and the terror of flight.

Dean looked at Castiel in the rear view mirror, before he said grimly - “Thanks, Cas.”

Sam repeated the sentiments and Castiel mumbled a note of acknowledgement. They fell silent again and they didn’t speak until some miles later, when they were certain they were out of danger’s way for the time being.

~~~

The next town they stopped at wasn’t completely deserted, although it had the hallmarks of a Martian heat ray. Several buildings were crumpled and torn, but at least there was movement, there was life amongst the ruins. No one seemed willing to come out, even when Dean and Sam yelled to the hidden onlookers that they weren’t Martians, that they were safe. Dean grumbled and got back into the Impala, to angle her out of sight, before they hid in an abandoned root cellar for the night.

~~~

They slept, while Castiel watched, an angelic sentinel at the root cellar’s entryway. He saw movement in the shadows, although he quickly ascertained it was human in nature, not alien. He once saw a dog, scared, tail between its legs as it slunk past on its terrified way. The angel didn’t try to call the dog to him, too mindful of rabid attacks and knowing he didn’t need the distraction when he was supposed to be watching over the Winchesters.

He glanced over his shoulder at them and watched them sleeping for a time, peaceful in their admittedly fitful slumbers. Sam seemed the more settled of the pair, while Dean jerked awake on more than one occasion, his sleep broken and restless. Castiel felt sympathy for Dean, more so than he did Sam. The elder Winchester was his charge after all, and Castiel still considered him as much. He felt closer to Dean, more comfortable with him than with Sam, who he still viewed with slight mistrust and as an abomination.

He felt a wave of loneliness wash over him then suddenly, a feeling he was all too familiar with during his tenure in Heaven. Despite being with his family in Heaven, in close contact with his brothers and sisters, the angel still did not feel like he truly belonged with them. In Dean and in Sam even, he felt like he belonged, was important and part of something vital and that he was even accepted. The Winchesters were more his family than his own family was and he felt a little stab of near-guilt for thinking ill of the other angels.

His mind drifted away from his family, settling upon the Martian invasion instead. He could see no end to it, no solution to it at all, yet he hoped that between the three of them, they would stumble upon a way to fight back somehow, or at least escape the Martians attention long enough to survive. He stayed on watch for the rest of the night, mind still churning with thoughts as he remained attentive for things untoward happening, yet nothing ever did. In the morning he woke Dean and Sam, before they set on their way again.

~~~

The next couple days saw the Winchesters and their resident watchful angel making slow progress towards Sioux Falls. They tried calling Bobby several times in the intervening period since being cut off from him on the first night of the alien invasion. There was still no answer, still a never ending hiss and hum of a cut phone line. Sam even attempted to send e-mails and text messages with no response from Bobby at all.

Dean refused to talk about the elder hunter‘s continued silence, despite Sam trying to broach the subject with him, in an attempt to tell Dean that Bobby was probably fine. Castiel remained silent upon the subject, which Dean was thankful for.

They spent their time trying to dodge the Martians and keeping out of their way, hoping to survive long enough to reach Bobby and hope. None of them knew what they would do when they got there; all they knew was that they would feel safer, and their minds would be put at rest as to what had happened to Bobby.

They started noticing more and more Martian Fighting Machines striding across the country, further impeding their already slow progress to Bobby’s. They also saw plenty of other machines, new ones, some flying above the ground, some like giant mechanical spiders with many legs and cages perched precariously upon their backs. They wondered at the purpose of those cages, yet none of them had any ready answers at all.

One night they received their answer as to the cage’s purpose. Sam was asleep and Dean was standing with Castiel at a window, peering out from beneath the ground where they were hiding in yet another dingy basement. They’d stopped in a sparsely populated town, one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Martian’s heat rays, bombed out and looking like a war zone, dirty and unkempt.

“You look tired. You should sleep,” Castiel told him, keeping his voice pitched low, not wanting to attract undue attention.

“I will soon. Not just yet,” Dean muttered back, without taking his gaze from outside.

The angel was worried about Dean, who’d turned silent and almost sullen since the first canisters had buried itself in the desert. He knew better than to ask, as he knew that Dean would only reveal what was on his mind when the hunter was ready to. He had a feeling that it was because Dean felt useless, unable to fight an enemy he had no clue on how to defeat. Several times over the past few days, Dean had attempted to take pot shots at one or other of the Martian machines, but each time he was stopped by Sam or Castiel, mindful of the inescapable heat rays being turned upon Dean.

Castiel blinked slowly back away from his thoughts but remained silent, until the first sounds of an approaching machine reached down into the basement where they crouched still. They watched, rapt and silent as one of the many legged machines, so reminiscent of an oversized metallic spider cleaved into view, silent except for the thud of its metallic feet against the ground. Far off into the distance they could hear the exultant cries of the original fighting machines, their sepulchral cries of Ulla echoing strangely so that it was hard to pinpoint their exact position.

They watched the odd spider-machine’s progress until it stopped at a broken tumbled down building across the street, silver metallic tentacles snaking out to snatch at a young boy inside the building. Dean made a startled noise and surged forward, any chance of help impeded by Castiel’s firm hand upon his arm dragging him back.

“What the hell, Cas? We can’t just stand here and watch,” Dean hissed into the angel’s face, livid anger apparent as he glared at his friend.

“We have no choice, Dean,” Castiel murmured back.

“Why? Yes, we have,” Dean said. “We can’t let that son of a bitch have that kid.”

“We can’t do anything, Dean. Not and get ourselves killed in the process. Think about Sam, and Bobby. You have to stay here for them,” Castiel said. “And for me.”

Dean stared at the angel, stunned into silence by the sudden uncertain fragility displayed in the angel’s eyes. Dean stayed, knowing that this was the first and only chance he would probably ever have of seeing that emotion displayed. Castiel was not as readable as that usually, didn’t allow his emotions be expressed in the more human form. For it to be displayed now, showed Dean how scared even Castiel was, how desperate and lonely.

“Please, Dean,” Castiel said, again imploring the hunter to stay.

Castiel had existed for far longer than Dean had even been alive and he’d admitted he hadn’t seen anything like this before in his long existence. For Castiel, it must have been worse, to see the Earth that had been so tranquil before, the Earth that the angel had known for far longer than Dean had be ripped apart by forces that were far stronger even than an angel. Dean realized then just how scared the angel must be.

“You’re right,” Dean muttered back, but without the grace that the angel should have been afforded. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. We can’t help.”

He hated himself for admitting that, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice, not when his brother was in constant danger and Bobby was somewhere in unknown peril. Even Castiel seemed to need Dean strong and by his side to offer him stability and the promise of safety.

Castiel nodded, but didn’t immediately drop his hand from Dean’s arm, further proving that Dean was his anchor to keeping calm. Dean didn’t shake him off; he needed Castiel close, as much as Castiel seemed to need the contact.

They turned their gazes back outside, as the boy was shoved unceremoniously into the cage that topped the mechanical spider machine. They watched the machine waddle and lurch away, making several stops on the other side of the street until the Martian’s cage was filled with limp bodies. Dean had his fist pressed tight against his mouth as he watched, barely keeping back the scream he needed to let loose.

“What do you think they’re going to do with the bodies?” Dean asked Castiel finally, when the machine lurched out of the ruined town and away.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted after a brief pause. “Sustenance, perhaps.”

“Sustenance? What? Are you saying these sons of bitches eat people?” Dean asked, as he stared at the angel.

“I don't know why else they’d round up people like cattle, Dean. It’s like they’re harvesting,” Castiel replied, morosely.

Dean looked ill, about ready to throw up, when Sam stirred behind them.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sleepily as he stared at the couple at the window blearily.

Dean looked at Castiel helplessly, uncertain as to even what to say to his brother and the angel spoke, without ever taking his eyes from Dean.

“A Martian came,” Castiel said, morosely. “I don’t think it’s safe for us to stay here anymore.”

“No? Why not?” Sam asked, instantly alert and awake now.

He stumbled to his feet to stare out of the window curiously, as though he expected to see evidence as to what had happened that had spooked both Dean and Castiel.

“They’re harvesting people, Sam,” Dean said, shock paling his voice into a white version of itself.

“What? Harvesting? You mean they eat people?” Sam asked, in obvious horror.

“We think so, but we can’t be sure,” Castiel said. “They took some people away and I don’t think anyone will ever see them again.”

“Jesus,” Sam said, as he turned away, pale and white in the gloomy light.

He looked no better than Dean himself did, face pale and clammy, limned with sickened sweat as he cast his gaze about the room. His eyes rested upon their bags scattered about the floor, and he stooped, picked several up and turned towards the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Dean hissed after him, as Sam padded towards the door.

“We’re leaving, aren’t we? We can’t stay here. You said so yourself. We’re not safe,” Sam hissed over his shoulder, yet he didn’t stop nor did he even slow down.

“Sam,” Dean said hoarsely after his disappearing brother. “Sammy.”

When Sam didn’t stop, Dean sighed yet still he stooped and picked up the remainder of their bags and followed his brother. Castiel followed silently in their wake, hands pushed deep inside his coat pockets, eyes as watchful as ever. He stopped the brothers from leaving the basement, going ahead of them to make sure they were safe to leave.

When his finer tuned senses picked up no signs of returning Martians, he nodded and led Sam and Dean from the wrecked building and on to the Impala. They kept their movements spare and minimal, easing the Impala away from the ruined town as quickly and as quietly as they could.

They stopped by a stand of trees, hidden by expansive trunks and sweeping boughs laden with late pears and dripping leaves, as a many tentacled, many legged Martian machine stopped nearby. They could see that Castiel’s earlier supposition was right; they distinctly saw one of the tentacles, clear this time instead of metallic, dipping into the cage that topped that metallic structure.

They watched, forced into silence to stay alive as muffled screams and howls of pain erupted from inside the cage, before thick blood oozed and ran in fluid streaks inside the tentacle. Dean exchanged a disgusted, horrified glance with Castiel beside him, and the elder Winchester couldn’t get the idea of a drinking straw dipping into milkshake from his mind’s eye.

He shuddered and turned away from the gruesome sight outside, trying to block the images of a blood smoothie and the ominous slurps from outside from his memory. He didn’t move again until Sam reached forward and told him that the thing outside had moved on, that it was safe for them to move on also. Dean started the engine and pulled away, glad to put some miles between them and the horrific sights they’d witnessed behind them.

~~~

The next day and they were closer still to Sioux Falls and the chance of reaching Bobby. The morning broke, deceptively fresh and new, promising hope when there was little chance of anything except scant survival. They woke to a new sight, although one that was not welcome despite its puzzling vision.

The entire ground outside was covered with what looked like red weed, soft and fibrous beneath their boots when they investigated, squashing down and springing back up again with squelching plush sounds as they passed.

“What the hell?” Dean asked, as he pushed his hand deep within a large clump of the weed.

“It’s Martian botany, surely. Perhaps that’s why Mars is red,” Sam murmured, as he mimicked Dean’s movements and ran his fingers through a particularly plush piece of weed.

They noticed that the weed seemed particularly lush and weirdly verdant near water, pulsing and growing over the sluggish course of a nearby river, coating the banks and covering almost the entirety of the river’s surface.

Dean shuddered and turned away, looking troubled, his brows pulled low over his stormy green eyes. Castiel watched the elder Winchester leave, before he followed in his wake, shoulders stooped beneath his tan coat as though the angel were greatly troubled. Sam watched them leave, before he too trailed in their wake, watching Castiel closely, gratefully. He was surprised that Castiel was still even with them, knowing of Castiel’s troubles in Heaven and he said as much to the angel when they were travelling alone, surprisingly unimpeded by anything remotely alien.

Castiel stared ahead after Sam thanked him for staying with them, face calculating and thoughtful, and Dean offered a smile, his first for several days. It looked as though Castiel was choosing his words wisely, as though deciding what to impart, what to keep to himself and how to word what he wanted to share with the brothers. Dean knew something of what the angel was going to say however, so kept his silence. Still he listened when Castiel spoke.

“The war in Heaven is still raging, and it hasn’t lessened nor abated in my absence. They seem unfettered by my current troubles here on Earth,” Castiel began.

“They don’t seem to care,” Dean supplied, when Castiel paused.

“No,” Castiel replied, reluctantly. “They seem to have decided to leave you in the hands of the Martians. I don't want to do that. I am not like them.”

“We know, and we thank you for it,” Sam said, genuinely grateful.

“If not for you, I would have nothing to fight for,” Castiel continued after a pause. “You have given me back my faith when I have no reason to believe any more. My Father is gone, and doesn’t seem to care. My brothers don’t listen and I know they definitely don’t care. You are all I have. You are my only friends, especially you, Dean.”

Dean gave him a sad smile at that, yet he could identify closely with the angel. He had no friends either, except for Sam - sometimes - and Castiel - always. He reflected upon how Sam had had the luxury of a normal life, or at least the semblance of it during his tenure at Stanford. Sam had had friends, and even a steady girlfriend. Dean himself had never had that, although he might wish for a family as some far off pipe dream that he knew could never work, given his lifestyle. Castiel was his only true friend, the only constant in an ever shifting world and he patted the angel’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Thanks, man,” he said, quietly. “We’re glad you’re here. Both of us.”

What he didn’t say was hat he was glad Castiel had remained. It meant a lot to him that Castiel had displayed such loyalty to him, to Sam, when the angel could have left any time he wanted. To think that Castiel had chosen to stay from his own free will, when angels were reported to have none via some sources spoke volumes of Castiel’s ability to choose his own way.

“You’re glad I’m here,” Castiel corrected. “We’re much alike, you and I.”

Sam kept silent, eyes dodging from Castiel to Dean and back again, wondering what had passed between the two that he’d missed. He felt a twinge of jealousy again, of how close the couple seemed, yet he thought that without Castiel, his brother had no one other than Sam himself and had no one else his whole life. He sat back and tried to afford the friends in front their time together.

Neither Dean nor Castiel spoke again for the rest of their journey.

~~~

They stopped again in a deserted town, and stocked up on gas for the Impala and more canned and packaged food. Not a soul moved in the town surrounding them, either long since departed or taken by the Martians, Dean supposed. He filled the Impala’s tank to the brim, wondering how long the pumps would work and when they would have to start walking.

He also wondered when they would run out of food. He already missed his fresh, steaming hot pizzas and his greasy burgers, especially his warm apple pies with fresh vanilla choked ice cream. He sighed and hoped that Bobby had a good supply of it when they reached his house, if Bobby was even still there. He'd forgo the pie and the greasy food, if it meant he could share a beer with the elder hunter, and to know that he was alright.

He stared at his phone while the tank was filling up, and considered attempting to ring the elder hunter again. He decided against it, knowing that the task would be useless, when it hadn’t proved fruitful before. He pushed his phone unused back into his pocket, before he unhooked the gas pump from his car and placed it back into its cradle.

He turned back and watched as Castiel watched the flight of birds overhead, and Dean wondered if Castiel missed flying himself, and the freedom of it. The hunter wondered if the angel felt confined by the Impala, whether he thought it too restrictive and slow. Castiel turned and saw him watching, head slowly tilting to the side as he regarded Dean.

“Do you miss flying?” Dean asked, as he pointed to a solitary bird pecking at the ground nearby.

“A little,” Castiel admitted after a brief pause. “There’s nothing quite like flying when you have wings for that purpose.”

“That's what I thought,” Dean said, with an easy smirk. “How you feel about flying is how I feel about driving my car. When we’re clear of these Martians, you should stretch your wings. It doesn’t seem fair that I get all the fun and you don’t.”

Castiel looked as though he was about to protest, but instead he finally nodded, knowing that Dean was trying to do him a favor, not telling him to leave.

“I’m not telling you to leave, dude, just to stretch your wings,” Dean confirmed as though catching some of what Castiel was thinking.

“I know,” Castiel replied. “And thank you. As soon as we are at Bobby’s and I feel safe, I will fly. I will return however.”

“I know,” Dean replied, as Sam finally returned, arms filled with instant noodles and canned goods.

“I am so sick of damn noodles and packaged soup,” Sam mumbled as he tossed some of the packages into the Impala’s trunk in disgust. “As soon as this is over, I’m never having soup again.”

“I hear ya,” Dean chuckled. “I’m just dying to have a burger.”

Sam offered him a smile, sighing when he realized that their current mode of eating was so far removed from Dean’s usual diet that he wondered why Dean hadn't complained much before. Then he realized the same thing that Dean had, that none of them had a choice.

“Sometimes I think you have it easier,” Sam said to Castiel.

“How so?” Castiel questioned, after receiving a brief shrug from Dean.

“You don’t have to eat,” Sam said, as he threw a disgusted look at dried noodles in the trunk. “Trust me, you're not missing much.”

“I would not mind a burger, now and again, myself,” Castiel said, delicately, throwing Dean a half amused glance when Dean suddenly laughed too loudly.

Even Sam grinned, lightened by Dean’s sudden laughter, needful after so much doom and gloom that had followed them like a dark cloud across the country. Suddenly things started to look a little more hopeful, despite being red tinged and weed choked and stinking with the liberal dose of Martian scent.

~~~

Two days later and they’d finally reached Bobby’s house. Little had changed since their last visit there, except for the ubiquitous red weed that choked everything. The Winchesters and Castiel barely noticed the weed anymore, too used to seeing it covering everything to even see it.

They walked through the reddened shapes of scrapped cars, covered with weed which corroded the metal beneath. Dean shot a glance over at his own car, promising himself that he’d protect her before too long, to prevent the same fate from happening to his Impala.

They reached the front stoop, waited upon the doorstep for a time, too uneasy to even enter Bobby's house for fear of what they might find. No movement could be heard within, and when Sam peered in through the window, nothing could be seen either.

“Maybe he’s in the panic room,” Dean offered, when Sam reported there was no movement inside.

“Maybe,” Sam replied, but he didn’t sound hopeful.

Castiel surprised the brothers as his slender hand descended and pounded upon the door, sending booming shockwaves through the seemingly empty house. There was still no answer and when Castiel pounded upon the wooden barrier again, the door swung open beneath the weight of his angelic strength. Castiel exchanged a look with Dean, then Sam before he preceded the Winchesters inside the house, creeping inside on silent feet. Movement further inside the house kept them on the alert and they headed towards the noise, soon placing it as coming from the panic room’s vicinity.

“Bobby,” Dean yelled, into the silence, unable to bear it any more.

There was no answer.

Sam tried, then Dean yelled more loudly and finally there was an answering shout, that sounded thankfully like Bobby’s gruff voice. It emanated from the panic room, and they hurried down there, boots thudding in solid little thumps against the wooden stairs as they did so. They found Bobby peering around the metal door of the panic room, eyes squinting into the gloom as they approached, tentatively then more bravely when they realized that Bobby seemed unharmed.

“Bobby? You okay, dude?” Dean asked, as he crowded into the panic room when Bobby opened the door to admit them.

The elder Winchester glanced around the room and saw that the majority of the room remained unchanged, bar the addition of a gas stove and several canned goods scattered about the floor. It seemed as though the elder hunter had had the same ideas they had, using packaged goods and canned items to keep him sustained while he hid out alone in his own panic room.

“Have they gone?” Bobby asked, without answering Dean’s question.

“The Martians? No, they’re still out there,” Sam replied.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, again, deciding he wasn’t going to stop asking until he’d received an answer.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Doing good considering,” Bobby said. “How’s things upstairs?”

He gestured towards the house, but neither Dean Sam nor Castiel thought that he was talking about the house.

“There’s red weed everywhere. It seems as though the Martians have propagated the Earth to make it more like their own planet,” Castiel said, dolefully. “They’re multiplied, and made more machines for themselves, more sufficient to their needs than just the tripods alone.”

“Their needs? What needs do they have?” Bobby asked, eyes dodging from Castiel to Dean to Sam then back again.

“Trust me, dude, you don't wanna know,” Dean said, shuddering, remembering the awful sight of a few nights before of people being drained of their blood for the Martian’s sustenance.

“People,” Castiel supplied, when Bobby looked to him for answers, knowing that the angel would no doubt give them.

Dean glared at Castiel, but the angel didn’t take any notice. Bobby merely nodded as though he didn’t expect anything less. They stood in silence, Bobby staring at the others, while Sam and Dean stared uncomfortably at the floor. Castiel was the only one to meet the elder hunter’s gaze head-on, but neither smiled. All had been through so much in such a short time; none had much to smile about.

“What happened to you guys out there?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence.

“Ask what didn’t happen. It’ll be easier,” Dean said, with a sigh, booted feet scuffling against the iron clad flooring beneath his feet.

“That bad, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said, when no one else answered. “The Martians are everywhere, practically inescapable.”

Bobby listened silently, dutifully as the trio outlined all that had happened since Bobby’s phone had fallen deathly silent some days before. Sam was the one to ask the inevitable questions that were on all of their minds but had as yet been unaddressed.

“What exactly did happen when the phone lines went dead? We tried calling, even sending e-mails but we couldn’t get through,” Sam asked, moving to stand before Bobby. “That’s why we came here. We were worried.”

“I would say you were all idjits for risking yourselves to get here, but truth is, I’m glad you came. I was getting stir crazy sitting here on my own,” Bobby said, with a tight smile. “A canister came down, sheared through the phone lines outside. There was some kind of heat ray. It affected my cellphone. I was lucky the house wasn’t hit, let alone have my phones cut off.”

“Shhh,” Castiel suddenly said, slender hand raised as he tilted his head towards the door of the panic room.

The angel was listening hard, brow furrowed in concentration as he did so, long fingers splayed for continued silence. Dean shook his head at Sam when the younger hunter opened his mouth to speak and Sam obeyed, mouth closing abruptly as he strained to hear. Dean trusted Castiel and knew that he’d heard something, even if they couldn’t. The angel’s hearing was better, and more attuned to the outside world than theirs.

From outside a sound could be heard, something plainly scraping upon the floor in odd patterns, squelching and slopping against kitchen linoleum. A bowl clattered loose and shattered upon the floor, shards hitting upon the kitchen cupboards plainly. Dean and Sam looked up to the ceiling, while Castiel turned to stare out through the still open door behind him. He reached out one slender arm to ease the door quietly shut, making sure that it was closely locked behind him from the inside.

They waited, Castiel and Dean jostling for room at the small window recessed into the panic room’s door, trying to see the intruder plainly heard coming down the stairs. Dean turned to look back into the recesses of the panic room and saw that Sam had moved back to station himself beside Bobby. Both of the hunters were watching Dean and Castiel with cautious eyes, waiting for news about what was happening outside.

“Dean,” Castiel’s deep voice sounded next.

His slender hand reached up to tap Dean’s shoulder, attracting his attention back to the space outside and the tentacle that was making its way downstairs. Upon the end of the long snake-like metallic structure was a small dome, reminiscent of the screen upon the Martian Fighting Machines that served as eyes upon the world. The tentacle’s eye glowed malevolently with a sickly green glow, illuminating its path eerily.

“Jeez, d’you think it’ll see us in here?” Dean cursed, ducking away just in case.

Castiel’s wings unfurled, covering the small window with a thick feathery barrier, obscuring the Martian’s view of the room’s interior. Even so, they could still see the glow shining through the silken surfaces of the angel’s wing as the light on the end of the tentacle reached the window. Castiel peered beneath his wing curiously, meeting the domed surface of the tentacle’s eye peering back blankly at him.

He stared, laid one hand against the glass and sent a wash of angelic power straight at the domed surface. White light bounced back and a wail of agonised alien pain coursed back through the thick door at them. Castiel sent another burst of power, another, putting as much of his Grace into it as he could and when next he looked, the tentacle had gone, only now just receding rapidly up the stairs where it had come from. The glass had darkened with the force of his power slamming through it, turning the window smoky and indistinct.

Castiel turned back to face the room at large, wings still unfurled and hanging at ease by his side. Dean thought that the angel was glad to have them free at last from their confinement in the otherwordly realm where he had kept them for so long.

“What the hell just happened?” Bobby asked, as he stared at Castiel curiously.

“One of the Martian ships sent an eye down to spy on us,” the angel explained. “I over-loaded its sensory capacitors with bursts of my Grace. It won’t have damaged anything, merely warned it off for a time. No knowing when it will be back again.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, morosely and received a you‘re welcome nod in return from the angel.

“Hopefully it'll stay away for the foreseeable future. We have things to do,” Bobby said as he moved closer to the door.

“Like what?” Castiel asked, yet he refused to move away from the doorway, effectively blocking the elder hunter with immovable body and stretched wings.

“You’ve got weapons, don’t you? Ammo? We need to prepare,” Bobby said, staring at the angel and willing him to move with a glare.

“It won’t do any good,” Dean said, as he exchanged a glance with his brother. “Not against the Martians. They’re too powerful.”

“We can try holding them off until someone sends help,” Bobby said, turning his glare upon Dean instead.

“We have to try,” Sam said, from behind Bobby.

Dean stared at them both, before he sighed and eventually nodded at Bobby. He didn’t speak, however, and his distaste was clear. It was obvious to all that the elder Winchester thought the idea useless, yet he didn’t argue against it aloud.

“Wait a while, until the coast is clear,” Castiel advised, from where he still stood blocking the doorway. “Then we shall all go.”

“Fine,” Bobby replied. “You tell us the minute you think it safe, ya hear, boy?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, and fell silent.

A half hour passed before Castiel gave the house the all clear, voice ringing with confidence when he heard that Martians had moved on. They ventured upstairs on quiet feet, needing to get out of the close confines of the panic room for even a short amount of time. They carried weaponry in from the Impala’s trunk, coupled with the portable gas stove and extra gas cylinders and food.

They had to make several trips to take everything in, and Dean would not leave his car uncovered. Castiel stayed with him, and helped to drag a heavy duty cover over the black paintwork to protect it from the worst of the red weed. Both Dean and Castiel checked the sky periodically to check for oncoming Martian attacks, while Castiel listened with his greater sense of hearing for ground attacks. They retreated back to the house unscathed and safe, before they dragged extra bedding downstairs for Sam and Dean so they could sleep in the safety of the panic room.

That night was spent in the panic room, cleaning guns and re-stocking on ammo, anything to keep their hands active and their minds from events outside. They talked quietly of anything they could think of, sometimes talking of the invasion, sometimes talking of things to take their minds from the invasion as their mood saw fit.

They soon learnt that Bobby’s power had soon followed the way of his phone lines, leaving him with no way to receive or send outgoing e-mails, or listen to his radio or watch the TV. The last Bobby had heard from the outside world was an astronomer screaming about alien attack, flares from Mares and alien life forms being a million to one chance of happening.

“They still came though,” Dean had grunted at that news.

Bobby nodded, but didn’t speak further. They spoke little that evening, still hearing muffled sounds from outside of Martian activity, and the occasional mournful cry of - “Ulla.” After a couple days and nights hiding in the panic room, however, the world outside grew disconcertingly still, with a mournful and eerie silence seeming to settle throughout the house, seeping in from outside.

Castiel joined Bobby, Sam and Dean in sitting there, silently listening, trying to hear something, anything of the world outside. There was noting at all to be heard, just deathly and inexorable silence. Sam was the first to get up, to stretch his long cramped limbs and to pad across to the panic room’s door. Dean watched him with an emotion tantamount to growing terror and trepidation, before he called out to his brother in a hushed voice.

“Sammy. What are the hell are you doing? Get back here,” he said, voice a hushed his so as not to draw any unwanted attention from outside.

Sam shook his head, before he said - “I wanna go outside. I wanna see why it’s so damn quiet out there. I think something’s happened. Cas, let me out.”

“No,” Castiel said, firmly. “If anyone goes, I go.”

“No one goes,” Dean said, forcefully turning upon the angel.

“I am stronger than you, Dean. They cannot hurt me,” Castiel said, patiently. “They won’t come near enough.”

“He’s right, boy,” Bobby said as he stared at Dean. “He can fly his way out of trouble.”

Castiel stared at Dean with large eyes, waiting upon Dean’s final nod, which duly came. Despite stating a command about wishing to go outside, Castiel still waited upon Dean’s word, Bobby was amused to note. It seemed almost comical to him that an angel would follow Dean’s orders, instead of the other way around, but it seemed as though even Castiel deferred to Dean. Bobby hoped that Dean didn’t abuse Castiel’s inherent trust and respect so freely given, and didn't think the hunter would. Dean wasn’t like that, at least not to those he was close to and protected. Castiel was one of the lucky few to be protected.

Sam stepped aside when Castiel moved up beside him, looking as though he wanted to protest yet remained silent all the same. Castiel was gone but a few minutes before he returned and nodded, a strange light of relieved exultation hanging clear in his eyes.

“They’re gone,” he said.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Bobby asked, not understanding the angel’s words at first.

“They’re dead,” Castiel clarified.

“Just like that, they’re dead?” Dean asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Is it not enough that they’re gone?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I just wanna see,” Dean said, with his first real grin since the invasion started.

He scrambled to his feet, before jogging outside and up the stairs, followed closely by Castiel. Sam and Bobby brought up the rear, just as curious as Dean. Once attaining the fresh outside., they saw the red weed still covering everything, albeit rather withered and poor in comparison to its previous plush state. They heard the sounds of birds flocking somewhere nearby and they picked their way through the junk and cars, until they reached the outskirts of Bobby’s property and a field.

In the middle of the field lay a toppled Martian Fighting Machine, one of the original Tripods that had terrified them in the early days of the attack. The front piece that looked so much like eyes was smashed open by strong avian beaks, and birds were still pecking at the meat of the Martian inside. They could plainly see that the Martian was dead and looked likely to have been in that state for some hours.

The hunters and angel walked around the fallen machine, examining it curiously, still a little fearful of the alien inside, despite the fact it was dead. Castiel was the only one to touch the surface of the tripod, running long fingers over the metallic surface almost reverently. Dean shuddered and turned away, glad when they finally moved away back to he shelter of Bobby’s house once again.

~~~

Over the next few days, the Winchesters and Castiel helped Bobby remove the remnants of the tripod from the field, dismantling it and piling it in Bobby’s salvage yard for usable parts. People started returning to the countryside and the towns around them, coming out from hiding and bringing news of other Martians laying dead elsewhere.

Two weeks later and someone had managed to reinstate the power, bringing the semblance of life back to almost fruition again. They heard reports about the globe, stating over and over that the Martians were dead, killed by Earth’s most invisible of beings - bacteria. It seemed as though that in attempting to invade Earth to save their dying race and depleted resources on Mars, the Martians, and by proxy humanity, had not foreseen that the Martians would be felled by such an innocuous thing as the lowly bacterium, something that humanity took for granted and had long such perfected their immune systems against. Martians had not expected this, having long such eradicated bacterium on their own planet, and the need for sleep and rest. Their inscrutable intelligence had overlooked something that proved their downfall in the end.

~~~~

ONE YEAR LATER.

Dean looked up at the sky, towards the spot reserved amongst the stars for Mars, before he turned and gave Castiel another bottle of beer. Castiel took it, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking stiffly, gracefully, lips forming a soft pout around the neck of the bottle.

“You think they’ll be back?” Dean asked, gesturing towards Mars and leaving no doubt as to whom he spoke of.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied honestly. “Maybe one day they‘ll return, but hopefully not for a long time yet.”

Dean merely shrugged at that and said nothing. They remained silent, drinking their beer and watching the lonely night sky and tracking the progress of a comet streaking across the sky. Dean couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of canisters falling to earth, but the comet was just that - an ordinary, space faring comet, thousands of years old and wending its innocent way through the cosmos.

Bobby’s voice filtered into the weighted silence between the pair, yelling for Dean to come look at at an old CB radio the elder hunter was trying to fix. Dean rolled his eyes at the angel, who smiled politely back.

“No rest for the wicked,” Dean muttered, as he sluiced back the rest of his beer in one lengthy pull.

“You are not a wicked man, Dean, despite all that you say,” Castiel reprimanded, in disapproval.

“Ya know, I had a feeling you’d say that, Cas,” Dean chuffed, before he flung one arm about the angel’s shoulders. “Now, you wanna see how a CB radio works? Even if you don’t, you’re gonna see it anyway.”

Castiel sighed, pretending to be much put upon by the hunter, making Dean laugh easily beside him. Castiel’s mouth curled at the corners in his usual vague angelic smile before he allowed Dean to lead him inside. They left the night to itself, stars singing to themselves as life slowly returned to normal, the Earth beginning to replenish itself by the day, by the night, moving ever on into the future and renewed hope for all.

~ the end ~


End file.
